Kyra Siegel

My freshman year, a sophomore told me that I—along with one other girl—had the legendary status of being a ‘freshman of value.’ He said, “Of all the freshmen, I only care what you and Lassandra Springsteen think of me.” This brief interaction was one of our first, a preamble to our soon-to-blossom friendship. I was special; someone I didn’t know cared what I thought.

What I think he meant– discernible from our previous lack of rapport—was that I was interesting and potentially important. Lassandra Springsteen certainly was. Even though I hadn’t met her, I had heard things—good things—about her writing and wit. She was supposedly awesome, possessing much of the confidence and prowess of an upperclassman. Part of the freshman experience at Harvard is discovering that your peers are already world-class researchers, child actors, poet laureates, and prodigies. When you first get here, there’s something of collective desire—sadly inherent—for those people to like you, because hey, they’re going to do (and have already done) big things. Lassandra was among that crowd of ones to watch. I was flattered by the parallel.

The Harvard economy runs on potential. Timmy got this internship and Tammy is in this club—their careers are set. Betsy Snuffles won a prize from the department of History of English and is now the global ambassador of wheat germ—she’ll run for president soon enough. This school feels like a stop on the train to success; obviously, you’d want the passengers next to you to help you get off at the right place. Sometimes it can look like this:

Yes! Do you want to form a band and possibly a start-up and also have babies?

It’s not always intentional—people often gravitate towards peers who happen to fill in their gaps or serve them in some way. But sometimes there’s a level of deception that sneaks into the mix, mostly in spaces that surround organized group activity or shared interest—performing arts, pre-professional clubs, etc. I have listened to the breaking voices, seen the tears and rage of kids realizing that their prized friendship was less mutual, more transactional.

Turns out this whole time she was just trying to get me to be her lighting designer! And I HATE jukebox musicals!

How counterintuitive is it to feel the most mistrust towards the people who GET IT, the people who love what you love?

Perhaps this is more of an issue with humanity at large (or not an issue at all), but there’s something to be said about what it means for potential (or fame) to act as a foundation of friendship. Because Harvard intrinsically promotes this expectation of benefit. The fog that wafts through the yard certainly whispers

… are you a freshman (or person) of value? Will you be of use to your peers when you graduate? Will you be the future hook of a networking event?

And this is not all bad. It’s not all good. One of the things I hate about some cultural criticism is the vague condescension, the teaching of a moral lesson that suggests that everyone thinks one way and you should think another. 

But I can’t help but wonder about the tragic beauty of someone else saying:

Seems like you are going to do big things. Let me be near it… and maybe ride the wave?

Because it really can be lovely to hear… confidence boosting (or ego stroking, however you look at it) and warm. But it suggests a certain marketability and necessary tangible success that most people cannot unwaveringly sustain… and that shouldn’t be the benchmark for a great friendship. Sure, I hope to be the person my potential suggests I can be, but what about who I am right now or tomorrow or the day after? When I get rejected from another club or internship and my screenplay is shit and I lose myself in rejection and fear? When I can barely keep my head above water?

Even though the sophomore from above and I are no longer friends (long story) his words still spark tingles of pride. He was older than me and funny (clearly qualified to judge everything) and he had crowned me, eighteen and new and now glorious, a freshman of value. At the time, it was a small but clear victory—an indicator that I deserved to be here. If I could go back in time and delete that interaction, pull the strings of his puppet-self, I don’t know if I would. What I do know is that at places like Harvard, it’s incredibly easy to feel less-than and worthless, wasteful and stupid. As a freshman, these feelings are concentrated and relentless; as a junior they’re the same, with added guilt for still feeling them.

Now don't worry, I don't have this constant 24/7 feeling of inadequacy lurking in my noggin that informs my every thought—I have incredible friends (who notably have different interests than I do) and make new ones without considering their intentions. At the end of the day, I don’t have some wise solution to the problem of needing constant “value” to deserve love. But I think it’s important to write down the confetti of life—the seemingly wonderful moments that need cleaning up in the morning. Writing itself is a form of cleaning, though it doesn’t guarantee freedom from picking up annoying confetti pieces in the near future. Because as frustrating as it can be, there's something so nice in being one of two or one of one, in words of exclusionary affirmation. In being the parallel, however brief, to the illustrious Lassandra Springsteen.

Notes

Lassandra and Me

Una Roven

Annika Inampudi

It’s winter break. Our treasured time for rotting, reunion, and fervor. And, more importantly, hedonistic consumption. These are the books essays films albums and snacks that filled 

 with flames in 2023. May they warm us well into the new year.


If you are an annoying Carhartt-Pinterest-balaclava-in-the-winter MFer like me, then you’ll love Blackbird Spyplane. It’s the jawniest newsletter on Substack and brilliantly lowbrow in a way that Laura Reilly’s Magasin (bless her Khaite heart) could never approach. It’s such crunchy writing and the clothing recs are unbeatable and acce$$ible. Any one of their articles will send you down an Internet rabbit hole of underrated brands, cool designers, and aspirational moodboards. Enjoy and, as always, consume ethically! —Caroline Choi

I know all of you literati have probably already read 

 by Elif Batuman, but I just got to it, and let me tell you, it will make you cry. Not because it’s touching or phenomenally good or something like that. If you have ever had a situationship in the walls of this university, you must read it. Ivan is the ultimate Harvard man, and he made me so angry - I am now allergic to him. Every page where he speaks has tear stains on it – he’s so annoying, I fucking hate him, read the book. —Varya Lyapneva

Other than holding the obvious sentimental value of reliving your memories, a journal acts as a sort of insurance policy for the dissociating type. I for one find the holiday season— and every other season— to be a particularly forgetfulness inducing moment for such a type. So, when your father asks you about that one random friend from middle school that he remembers only by nickname, or your neighbor asks if you’re “still planning on that whole acting thing” and you find yourself in another realm just nodding… write about it immediately. All of the moments you try to forget… write about them immediately. Maybe they can actually help in the future. —Kyra Siegel

“Merchandising the Void” (Kelly Pendergrast, 2023)

why are influencers turning their pantries into miniature supermarkets? it could be regular tiktok brain rot, but pendergrast argues that it reveals something deeper in our current moment: the "fetishization of logistics itself," where our culture's "fascination with capital's abstraction" is reaching a critical point. she also explains the history of gendered domestic technology, the work of critical theorist alberto toscano, and the color "kardashian greige" along the way. —Conan Lu

Look. I should not have liked this book. I am not a fantasy person by any stretch of the imagination. But this semi-fantasy semi-mystery semi-literary novel had me regularly gasping in my common room to the extent that my suitemates were laughing at me. A page-turning treat that I can truly not tell you anything more about without spoiling the fun. —Eve Jones

“Story of Your Life,” “Exhalation,” “Tower of Babylon” (Ted Chiang)

Take any classic science fiction trope - time travel, alternate universes, first contact - and you'll find that Ted Chiang has already written about it. What makes Chiang's short stories stand out is his ability to write about digital pets, infinite towers and alien linguistics in a way that is surprisingly close to the soul, with stories lingering in your head for weeks, months, or even years after you put them down. He is, for me, the ultimate "what if" writer. You can't go wrong with Ted Chiang, so just pick any short story of his and get busy reading. I think your only complaint, after a day or two of binging his stories, will be that there aren't any more for you to read.—Andreas Lordos

Testo Junkie: Sex, Drugs, and Biopolitics in the Pharmacopornographic Era

The book that brought autotheory to the world, 

is about getting high, it’s about birth control, it’s about grief, it’s about drag. 

is praxis. Changed the way I think about every aspect of my life. —Una Roven

Women at Work: Interviews from the Paris Review 

“I hate almost all rich people, but I think I’d be darling at it.” The 2022 

is an insightful collection of interviews with women who are–well, at work. The collection features twelve interviews with prolific female writers, including one with the electric Dorothy Parker, quoted above, and a preface by Ottessa Moshfegh. The interviews themselves are refreshing; one is structured like a four-scene play, another asks Parker what the evil in Hollywood is. Definitely recommend. —Roxy Hreb

There’s something dizzying about this movie. It’s like being led through a maze when you know you’re making the wrong turns but can’t turn around because everything is disappearing behind you. But the maze is also incredibly sexy.  This is not a feminist movie. It’s a womanizing movie. But it’s hot. I kept wanting Snàporaz (the beautiful Marcello Mastroianni) to go back to safety, to even acknowledge that he was doing something insane. But this is Fellini’s world… you have to follow the gorgeous terrifying girls no matter what. —Una Roven

 but without the gossip columns. It takes place (you guessed it) during the Gilded Age in New York City and follows the lives of both the elite and working class. I think it is so interesting because it offers real historical insight into the period while being facetiously dramatic about the social problems of the time. 10/10 —Sadie Kargman

 is a display of one's wildest, most fantastical, yet deeply perverse dreams. It follows the gorgeous Jacob Elordi and Barry Keoghan in what I deem as 

 The whole theater was gagging, screaming, and crying in unison the entire time, but alas, it is the best thing I have ever seen and perhaps my new favorite movie. 10/10 —Sadie Kargman

“his name is bryce, which like, um hello! good name. he works in product development which is like perfect for me because i love products” —Conan Lu

Why don’t we write romantic emails anymore? — Annika Inampudi

“Alphabet City,” “Moose Crossing” (Margot Fox)

If you like Indigo Girls but wish the lyrics were about things like a moose crossing or recycling, try listening to my actual kindergarten teacher who tested these songs out in my class back in 2008. Genuinely, I still listen to these today. My favorites are “Alphabet City” and “Moose Crossing,” but they’re all excellent. “Recycle in Boston, recycle in France, recycle in New York, do the recycle dance.” God, I wish she’d perform live again. —Eve Jones

I recently took inspiration from my friend Jacob and listened to the entire Nicki discography in one go. This is her best song. Not taking questions. Dick in your face. —Una Roven

Written after vocalist Elizabeth Fraser gave birth to Lucy Belle, Heaven or Las Vegas is the dream. Listen to it while walking in wide open spaces, thinking about Nietzsche, or eating a savory soup. – Annika Inampudi


This is simply a wonderful album. The vocals hold emotion in every breath, the tone is exquisite, the production is five stars. I am both heartbroken and thrilled to share that I heard “The Hardest Part” playing at a Lush while buying a dreidel bath bomb for my roommate. But Dean deserves to be heard by the mainstream bath product chain store demographic, she‘s just that good. My favorites are Dive, Ladies Room, and The Hardest Part… but all of the songs are special. —Kyra Siegel

sega bodega’s production revives homogenic-era björk from permafrost. strings and reggaeton beats create an incredibly lush and eclectic soundscape, much like a tundra in the wake of climate change. 1 stream = 1 icelandic fish saved from the pen farming industry. —Conan Lu

The awesome cocktail you drank at fall dinner? A generous spoon of blueberry jam (but any will be delicious), shot of gin, dash of lemon juice, stirred with ice, topped with seltzer. Outside of 21SS I would add muddled fruit and mint. —Una Roven

No longer are the best chocolates on the market relegated to Easter. You can now have them during the Christmas season, too. My method is to pop one in my mouth, bite off the coating, and then let the chocolate melt. Chewing is for the weak. —Eve Jones

in preschool i built an unsuccessful bird feeder with a mango juice carton. “built” in the sense that i stuffed it full of seeds and put it outside. “unsuccessful” in the sense that i fed no birds. now i’ve been looking for this mango juice at school, but they’re all minute maid mango punches, dole orange peach mangos. just imagine a dole orange peach mango bird feeder. it’s demented. way too many nouns in a row. but so i'm at the grocery store in my 3.79-square-mile non-city of a hometown, buying cabbage, finding kern's mango nectar, drinking kern’s mango nectar, eating cabbage, buying more cabbage. this was not supposed to be about cabbage. —Jessica Zhang


Kyra Siegel

Kyra Siegel

Notes

Notes

Lassandra and Me

Notes

ADVO RECOMMENDS: WINTER 2024